


Sulfur and Static

by RPGCATZ



Series: The Gifted Kids [1]
Category: Everyman HYBRID, Marble Hornets
Genre: Alternate Universe - Children with Powers, Alternate Universe - Middle School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Jessica cares a lot about her friends, Sort Of, They're in like. 8th grade, in which habit isnt as shit as they usually are and everyone has powers lma, no beta we die like men, so Nearly highschool but also Not Yet., staring Habit as the cool teacher guy who everyone knows nothing about, story ranges from middle school to college years bc i wanna make these kids friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-01-04 14:03:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18345164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RPGCATZ/pseuds/RPGCATZ
Summary: “Who, on occasion, also saw the very anthropomorphic creature his father and his father before him andhisfather before him also saw before they died, and he didn’t know if that was a sign or not.A sign of what, he also didn’t know,”(6/12/19; This story has apinterest board!!)





	1. Howl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw:  
> -mentions of religious abuse/religion related trauma  
> -mentions of parental death  
> -light body horror  
> -self harm? (picking at skin/scabs when under stress)
> 
> Title from Howl by Florence + the Machine

There were,  _a lot_  of oddities in his life growing up. 

The disappearance and later death of his father and his mother’s abandonment of him and his dad had been one of them, the content of the many pills he swallowed were another. In the confines of school, the number of oddities practically doubled. 

One particular oddity was that of one Mr. H Abraham Itson. He was a man of fit quality, with a grating laugh and slicked down, black hair that still always managed to get in his eyes. His teeth, nails, and tongue were of average length and sharpness when he spoke normally, and his eyes were always a deep set of black orbs surrounded by the powder red of slightly bloodshot rims. No one in the school even knew what the man taught much less anything about him outside of school. 

On occasion though, there were the stray rumors of a knife collection in one of his many supposed offices and one particularly prominent rumor of the man’s pupils once turning a deep purple and slitting like a predator’s at the sight of a notorious bully pestering a new student.

Tim himself liked the story of the man’s laugh that Seth had conveyed to him during lunch on Tim’s third week in. It was rumored that when the man was laughing hard enough or angry enough of doing anything enough, his teeth would sharpen, and his tongue would elongate in his mouth, turning deep indigo and slitting at the tip like a snake’s. A few of those who shared the story often spoke of his voice layering, of it sounding deeper and rougher, of hearing thousands of voices laughing alongside him. 

Most students and teachers referred to him as Mr. H. 

Other than the rumors though, the man had an obviously clean reputation and a high standing among a few of the student. 

Jay had told him, upon him asking, that one day the man had simply just shown up and started making a hole for himself in the school’s population. He was off-putting to most, on occasion making students scramble out of his way as he walked down the halls, but he was also nice to a few students who needed it. It was like the man had a sixth sense for sad children with bad pasts. 

Tim himself hadn’t heard about that one point until lunch had been over and Jay had mentioned it offhandedly, a month after the incident that had occurred, which was why he was so surprised when the man approached him in the middle of October as he made his way to his next class. 

Now, Tim had never seen his childhood as sad, or “fucking depressing” as Mr. H would later say, but he did know that growing up in an institute that his father and his father before him practically grew up in, was kind of messed up. Pair that with the fact that the institute was more a religious brainwashing cult than a mental rehabilitation center and one would get a sourly messed up child with a fear of crosses and wooden rulers and learned ambidexterity. 

Who, on occasion, also saw the very anthropomorphic creature his father and his father before him and _his_ father before him saw before they died, and he didn’t know if that was a sign or not. 

A sign of what, he also didn’t know. 

“The Apple never falls too far from the tree with your family, huh?” Mr. H had questioned, his tone not mocking, but not gentle as some students said it to be.

he tapped his foot on the floor beneath the chair, the sound echoing in the silence Mr. H had let fall after his words. 

_"how was it?" Seth would ask later, his gaze amplified by an equally enthralled Jay who sat staring at him from over Seth's shoulder._

_"awkward," he would supply before being promptly shushed by the librarian._  

The collection of knives propped up on the wall behind Mr. H made Tim's skin crawl, a stinging throb on his nerves that pulled and kicked at him for attention. 

The room was of average size, with some drawn pictures hanging from a bulletin board to the left of MR. H's desk. The drapes hanging over the windows were a deep purple,  and despite the time of day, there was a line of fairy lights blinking slowly across the top of the window. Across the walls were pictures, both drawn and taken by a camera, of random scenery and people. Without his glasses on, Tim couldn't see much of the details on them. The rest of the room was in a state of controlled chaos, and internally Tim chuckled bitterly at the thought of old Sister Helen losing her shit at the sight of it. 

"I suppose I should tell you why you're here, huh?" He leaned back in his chair, not trying to make Tim look him in the eye like every other teacher, just sitting there, his hands folded calmly over his stomach and his legs propped up on the edge of his desk. 

"Am I in some kind of trouble?" Falls out of Tim's mouth faster than he can stop it from doing so. 

He keeps staring at the table between them, taking in the dim reflection of purple from the man in front of him as he chuckles. 

"No, no. Nothing like that." 

He smiled, something soft and pleasant, but Tim could feel the daggers that were held behind his lips.  

"No, not trouble Tim. You see, I did a favor for a friend of yours a while back, can't share who due to confidentiality, you understand. But when I helped out your friend, I got the idea that their problem was big enough to involve the rest of their group too." 

"So I'm just here by association?" 

Mr. H gave him a small shrug, "Don't know, to be honest, kiddo. I'm not sure if your involvement is direct, or if you have nothing to do with this. That's why you're here though."

"Now," Mr. H slid his legs off the desk and opened up a drawer below where his legs had been propped up, "Can you tell me wha-"

The door behind Tim's chair practically slammed open, and fluorescent light from the hallway pooled into the dimly lit office. 

For a moment, Tim could see bright purple shining back in Mr. H's eyes. The presence of those sharp teeth suddenly grating on Tim's consciousness.

"Ha-" 

Tim turned to see Alex Kralie standing with his hands up like he was about to swat at something on either side of him, but when he saw Tim staring back at him his posture straightened and he took a startled step back into the threshold of the door. 

Alex was a tall lanky boy with freckles and dark chestnut hair which had streaks of red peaking through in the right light that hung in a small sweep over black, squared glasses that sat hiding deep, brown eyes. His hands were skeletal and sharp at the nails, and his tongue was sharper than any knife in Mr. H’s collection. He was a friend of Jay and Seth from what he had seen, and he sat with them occasionally, a notebook filled with seemingly pointless ramblings and scribbles always at his side. He seemed distant mostly, but Tim tried to keep a nice attitude with him. 

He had heard the stories involving Alex’s father and one peculiar Mr. H. and decided he would rather not get too involved in Alex’s personal affairs.

It seemed he wouldn’t have a choice here though. 

"-aaah, I'll come back later," He finished, obviously caught off guard by Tim's presence. 

"You're fine, come on in," Mr. H said, his posture slinking back into that of relaxed and composed. His words were soft, but his tone was challenging like he was daring Alex to walk back into the room. That or he was daring him to leave. 

Alex stared into the open doorway and sighed before shutting it quietly.  

The snap of the door closing was like an explosion in the suddenly silent room, and Tim realized that the room was actually soundproofed. 

Alex walked stiffly to stand in front of the table before he gave a side glance to Tim, his hands gripping the tan folder in his grasp just a bit harder. He sat down in the seat next to Tim's and handed the folder over to Mr. H when he made a motion for it. 

"What've ya got for me, Ruth?" 

Alex pulled his legs up into the chair and crossed them at the ankle, his fingernails digging just a bit into the exposed skin there. 

“New kids. Four of them. I can practically _feel It_ every time they’re in the area,” 

“You get their names?” Mr. H asks with a smirk as he flips through the contents of the folder. 

Alex hummed before handing over a small piece of paper. From what Tim could see momentarily, there was different handwriting on the paper than Alex’s normal writing, and the idea of another secret party in the strange occurrence sent a small shiver down Tim’s spine. 

"How is she, by the way?" Mr. H shot a look to Alex, who dug his nails deeper into his leg before responding. 

"She's fine."

Mr. H nodded with a small smile gracing his features. 

He read the paper over again two more times before setting it in the folder and placing it on the table, closed. The man folded his hands in front of him and smirked at Tim with what Tim would dub as an apologetic gleam in his eyes, and anyone with sanity and untrained senses would call nonexistent. 

"Sorry about that. I assure you though, it is relevant." 

Tim and Alex shared a look while Mr. H's smile widened into something more, _predatory_. 

 "As I was saying before Ruth here rudely interrupted," Mr. H reached back into the drawer he had unlocked earlier and produced a stack of old and practically brittle looking Polaroid photos and handed them to Tim, "I just need you to take a look at these," 

Mr. H reopened the folder and flipped through its contents once more while Tim looked at the photos. 

Alex pretended he was more interested in the sensation of the leather of the seat against his hands while he waited. What for, Tim was left clueless. His fingers tapped a sharp rhythm against the seat and he rocked back and forth slightly, staring off into the distance above Mr.H's head. 

The first image was that of a midday woodland scene, much less brittle than the others but still slightly yellowed with age and bent at one corner from use. At first glance, there was nothing special about the image, just some trees and summer light beading from the openings of leaves, but Tim's eyes kept drawing back to one particular section of the image, just to the left of one of the trees. 

Between the bark and a slight blur due to the motion of the camera, there was what appeared to be a black and white suit, tied together with a black dimpled tie. 

He wouldn't. He promised himself when his fingers started to lightly twitch around the edges of the image that he wouldn't have a breakdown, especially not in front of Alex. 

He flipped to the next image with a shaky breath, trying to clear his head of distant warnings his father had once whispered to him when he figured his son was asleep. 

The second image was an old building, deteriorated with mold and onslaughts from the weather. Graffiti littered the walls in bright splashes of pink, orange, and red. Farther back into the depths of the building, hiding behind a corner with a half-finished x overlaying a circle on the cracked plaster, deep crimson lines near the base of the wall, was that Thing in the suit once more. 

He wasted no time before flipping to the third image. In the corner was a blurry but still visible creature, standing tall in its suit. 

Tim flipped through all the images, the amount of time spent looking for the creature on each one diminishing with every image he looked at. 

Panic and bile rose in his throat, a cold sweat breaking on the back of his neck. 

"I- Is this some kind of sick joke?" 

Alex's eyes snapped over to him, his rocking ceased and the rhythm of his nails of the leather stopped as well. 

 "It's not a joke, It's a test." 

Tim slammed the images down on the table and stood, pushing his chair back in the process. He ignored how Alex flinched. 

"A test? A test for What?!" Tim could feel anger boiling in his chest, and in an attempt to keep himself from attack one or both of the other parties in the room he dug his nails into the soft centers of his palms. 

"A test to see how long you would last until you saw It.” Mr. H supplied pushing his palm up under his chin, his elbow resting on top of the folder. 

Tim felt a chill run down his spine and he shook where he stood in front of them. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Mr. H tilted his head, rolling his stubbled chin against the rough skin of his palm. 

“Hm, well it seems with the uh, _expressive_ act you just gave us, you do,”

Alex wrapped his slender arms around his legs and leaned back into the chair, eyes darting quickly to and from Tim and Mr. H. 

“Besides, don’t you wanna know why we’re being so cryptic and weird here”

Tim, staring at the man with a slight glare, raised an eyebrow to get him to continue.

“You like mysteries don’t you, Timster? I mean, if you didn’t you wouldn’t have spent so long on your heritage. At least, _I_ don’t think you would have,” 

“You don’t know anything about me Or my _heritage_ , so don’t act like you do.”

Mr. H met Tim’s eyes, and for the first time, Tim saw the reflection on purple hidden deep in the inky black of the man’s stare.

“If I didn’t, why would I show you images I knew you could see the true subject of?”

Tim could feel his shoulder jump lightly, his stare unmoving and his eyes squinting.

They held each other’s stare for a while. Out of the corner of his eye, Tim saw Alex shift uncomfortably in his seat under the room’s tension. 

Finally, or more _Surprisingly_ , Mr. H broke the battle first, closing his eyes and running a hand through his hair before folding his hands back over the top of the desk. 

“Tim, please. Take a seat. You want answers for what you have? For what your family sees? We have the best of an answer as we can get you, all it takes is your willingness to listen.” 

Mr. H made a motion to the chair Tim had previously been sitting in, with a silent plead in his eyes and Tim wondered if anyone else had ever seen. 

Beside him, Alex scratched at an uncovered scab on his calf, his eyes glazing over slightly as he stared down at Tim’s shoes silently. He looked like he was intently listening, but to what, Tim had no clue. 

Tim looked back to Mr. H, his eyes meeting the man’s and latching on with all of his residing anger. He put a hand on the arm rest of the chair, never once letting his eyes drift form the man, the _Threat,_ in front of him. 

“You’ll answer my questions first. Truthfully.” Tim shifted on his foot to be closer to the chair, “If I find out this is some sick ploy to get at me, you’ll both be sorry, _Mr. H_.” 

Alex hissed quietly, his fingernails coated in a light crust of crimson, and Mr. H offered him a bandaid silently, acting like he was thinking over Tim’s terms. 

Tim watched Alex open and apply the bandaid to the slowly bleeding scab with a general indifference he hadn’t felt since  he walked into the room. 

Mr. H cleared his throat and offered his hand with a sharp smile. 

“I will. On the condition that you listen to everything we have to say?” 

When Tim didn’t go to immediately take his hand, Mr. H wiggled it twice as if taunting him with something he wanted like a dog. 

“We have a deal, but because I’m like eighty percent sure you're actually a demon, I’m gonna keep my hands to myself.” 

At that, Tim sat in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. 

Mr. H just smiled, but it looked more like a _snarl_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact; had to physically stop myself from having Tim say fuck in this one about three times.  
>   
>   
> (Edit 6/12/19; This Story now has a [Pinterest Board](https://www.pinterest.ie/ChemicalGay/the-gifted-kids/) with sections for each of the characters if you're having trouble visualizing them or just want to see some mood boards!!! )


	2. Hollow Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some Alex pov bc EA decided I go with his point of view next.
> 
> Tw;  
> -refernces to self harm (picking at skin/scabs under stress)  
>   
> Title from Hollow Moon by AWOLNATION

“You with us Ruth?” 

He was rubbing his fingers over the expanse of the bandaid, feeling the way the material filled and left the grooves of his index and middle fingers in waves. 

The static was in his left ear, and it bounced around in his skull as incomplete words and sentences. He wished he had something to write with. 

“Ruth?” 

“Sorry, sorry.” He waved dismissively around his left ear, hoping the man wouldn’t notice his discomfort. 

The man, known to the boy beside him as Mr. H, known to Alex as something different, raised an eyebrow at him, concern and interest lapping at his pupils.

Despite his best efforts to both wave the static away and keep Mr. H unsuspecting, he nodded. 

Mr. H unlocked one of the doors leading into the confines of his desk, filled with knives, pictures of something he couldn’t see, bandaids and on the occasion that Alex doesn’t make it through their sessions totally _together_ emotionally, strawberry and cream suckers that sometimes cut the top of Alex’s mouth but gave him something to focus on other than the static and the voices and the words only he could hear. He reached into the desk and pulled from it an old radio. 

It wasn’t the same radio they would use for sessions, but seeing anything like it come from the desk made his skin crawl. 

“Bit old-timey, isn’t it?” Mr. H asked Tim, who was looking at the radio with a spark of interest that wasn’t there before. 

“I suppose,” Tim replied, his leg bouncing under the chair. 

Mr. H flipped the dial of the radio until a quiet Frank Sinatra song played from the speakers. 

It was always Frank Sinatra that played through the radio. Always. 

“Present?” The man asked, his gaze fixed on Alex’s with a drop of concern lacing the question. 

Alex just nodded, letting his leg bounce from the cross he had placed it in on the chair. 

“Alright well, the class is in session,” Mr. H folded his hands on the desk with a smile gracing his lips, “So, what’s your first question Timster?”

Tim looked at Alex, his eyes shining with curiosity. 

“Mr. H.” Tim started, “why does everyone call you that?” 

“Why does everyone call you Tim?” Mr. H responded. 

When Tim didn’t respond, an offensive glare taking hold of the curious gleam in his eye, Mr. H just smiled wider and waved his hands.

“It’s my name,” Mr. H continued, “to them at least.” 

“Your real name, I mean.” 

No cracks broke through the facade Mr. H had covered himself with. 

“H. Abraham Itson.” 

“What’s the H stand for?” 

“How long are you gonna spend on my name kiddo?”

”What does the H stand for, Itson.” 

Alex didn’t know how long he couldn’t last with Tim’s persistence though, so he did the one thing he was good at. 

Panicking. 

“Hester, it uh- It stands for Hester.” 

Tim whipped his head to the side, staring at Alex with something duller than disbelief, but more like he was asking him to clarify what he meant. 

“It’s a pretty odd name, yeah? I mean. You could probably make some mean jokes off of it if you wanted."

He never was a great liar.

Mr. H, as he was known to the boy beside Alex, was cringing as if he had just heard a fork on a plate, but his eyes were filled with a soft ' _thank you'_ he couldn’t say in the presence of Tim. 

“Alright,” Tim nodded. 

“Any more?” Mr. H asked, his face fixing itself into an easy smile. 

“What’s Alex got to do with this?” 

Mr. H's smile fell limp at one corner. 

Alex, who knew on the premise that he was apart of the equation in question, could feel the tension he had so desperately wished to cut through build up once more. 

“He’s like you,” Mr. H stated, pulling on himself an air of nonchalance while silently adjusting the sleeve of his suit jacket in a haze of nervous energy. 

“Like me?” Tim parroted quietly.

“Mhm,” 

“How?”

”Hm?”

“How is he _like_ me?” 

Mr. H was looking at the spot between Tim’s eyes, catching on the bridge of his nose to excuse a lack of direct eye contact. There was a small scar there, just about the length of a sewing needle. 

“You’re aware of the whole brand and off-brand products, yes? Imagine that, but with this. Same condition, different brand.”

“So he can see it?” 

Mr. H tilted his head to the side and shot a look at Alex once more.

Alex just shifted himself on the chair and shrugged. 

“No, I can’t see it, not as you can. But I can hear it if that makes any sense.” 

There was a buzzing in the room by the window, static lapping at his mind in waves inaudible to the others in the room. He felt his nails dig into his leg again, pulling across it when he had enough depth on it to cause some damage. 

“I don’t really understand,” Tim started, his eyes catching onto Alex’s nails in his own skin, “so you’ll have to explain it later, but not right now,”

Alex simply nodded, staring into the grain of the wooden table Mr. H sat at. 

Mr. H was saying something to Tim, but it was covered by the increasing static drawn words. 

he needed to write it down.

There was no spare paper in sight, and he considered scratching the words into his own skin for a moment. 

“Mr. H- do, uh, do you have a pen?” 

The man stared at him for a moment, before reaching to the radio and silently turning it up.

“As much as I would like to, considering what you may be thinking of doing in _lack_ of a pen, we need you present for this, okay?” 

Alex looked over to the window behind the man, his legs pushed tightly to his chest and his nails digging tightly into his palms.

“okay,” 

Mr. H gave him a sad look, one filled with more pity than a healthy amount of the dulled frenzy he constantly wore. 

Mr. H’s version of an apology. 

Tim gave a look to them both, his eyes squinting slightly, before shifting his shoulders and letting out a sigh. 

“So, what’s up with you then?”

The boy was glaring at the man in front of him now, eyebrows raised in a question Alex was sure he really didn’t want to know the real answer to. 

“Come again?” 

“What’s up with you? Why are _you_ so invested in this that you nearly give a kid a panic attack through a picture?” 

Mr. H tapped a finger against his chin, letting out a hum in thought. 

“Something tells me,” the man started, “you _really_ don’t wanna know the answer to that,” 

Tim’s jaw twitched, a small pull of muscle under his skin that gave off all the annoyance he was hiding underneath. 

“You don’t _know_ that,” he countered. 

“Maybe, but I mean it when I say that you _really_ don’t,” 

Tim was glaring harder at the man, and Mr. H was tapping a small rhythm against his own cheek.

Alex felt the static glaring daggers at him. 

“There’re more people than just you and I in this situation Tim, we’re uh- we’re having a meeting, sort of, later tonight. We can explain what you want to know there,” he felt Tim’s eyes shift over to him and relax from their glare, “it’s just not safe to talk about it  _here,_ ”

The static bristled beyond the glass, and Alex wondered for a moment how Tim hadn’t seen it yet, hadn’t gone into a panic as he had before. 

Alex almost hoped he didn’t notice it.

For a moment, Tim seemed almost silently angered at the prospect of having to wait for the answers he so desperately sought, but Alex figured he got the hint and quietly nodded in agreement. 

“Fine,” 

Mr. H was back to smiling again, his hands once more folded over the folder in front of him. 

“You done with your interrogation?” He asked, his voice barely concealing the maniac excitement that rolled off his tongue like oil.

”Sure,” Tim answered, the mask of indifference cracked only by the slightest hint of curiosity hidden deep under the will to remain stoic.

Mr. H’s smile grew impossibly wider.

“Well, let’s start then, shall we?” 

The man turned the volume on the radio down slightly, but the static remained outside the window, angrily glaring at Alex.

Mr. H’s smile dropped into a small smirk. 

“To put this into perspective, the faceless thing you see is not a hallucination. In estimate around, let’s say, fifteen kids at this school are suspected of somehow being connected to it and are able to interact with it in some way. Alex here,” the man flicked a pen he had picked up in the boy in question’s direction, eyes sparkling with shimmers of purple once more, “delivered a paper at the start of this session, if you’ll recall. That paper was a list of children Alex thinks may have the connection.” 

“I’m guessing I was on this list?” Tim asked quickly, foot tapping against the floor beneath him. 

Mr. H pointed the pen at Tim them, a smile showing the sharp teeth under the skin for a moment before returning to blunt tombstones in the man’s mouth. 

“Bingo,” 

Tim nodded, allowing the man in front of him to continue on once more.

"This list is written by another child who has the ability that both you and Alex here have, and they are quite peculiar about how and when I speak to these children. The only reason I didn't talk to you sooner was that they were insistent that if I did, you would somehow manage to fuck up the whole system by sheer spite and distrust."

"You don't know if I won’t now though. Cause now that you've put the idea in my head, I just might."

"Unless you wanna deal with them yourself, you'll keep your hands off the system, capiche?"

Tim glared at the man, most likely plotting the action and weighing the consequences mentally, before deciding on whether or not to actually go through with it, now that Mr. H had so wonderfully threatened him with the retaliating actions of the unnamed child.

Before long, Tim finally nodded to the man, coming to his own silent conclusion.

"Anyways, these children usually have something about them that has gained the interest of the faceless thing. Because they've gained the interest, it's really hard to get rid of it naturally, that is of course unless you die or some shit, but we haven't tested if any of the kids who definitely have that interest are immortal or something so I wouldn't suggest doing anything unless you wanna end up permanently dead. In the case of this little motley crew the kids here have so wonderfully assembled, you all just stay connected and try to deal with the powers this interest has given you. Which means meetings, and group chats probably, I wouldn't know to be honest. I try to give the kiddos as much space as I can, and as long as they don't fuck up the system on their own or go around causing too much havoc, I don't intervene with them and their plans. Basically, I get the children who have the powers and I show them the group, tell them about the system, and then leave you all to your own devices. Simple and clean, you know?"

"What do you mean by system?"

Mr. H, who at some point while he was talking had moved his hands to hold up his chin, crossed them back over the folder under his elbows and shot Tim a quizzical look.

"You plannin' on fucking the whole thing up?"

"Not really, but you keep saying that these kids need to follow the system, and if I plan on being in this group, I think I should know what system I need to be mindful of."

The man tapped a finger against the back of his hand and looked to one of the many images along the walls, mouth slightly quirked up at one edge.

He let out a sigh before leaning back into his chair and popping his neck on both sides.

"Rule number one, you do not tell anyone about your powers _or_ anyone else's powers. Rule number two, if you somehow get into some trouble that involves the creature or another creature like it, you tell someone in the group immediately. Rule number three, don't get dead and don't get anyone killed."

Tim nodded along to the man's words and seemed to take in the shape of the man's face silently. The room came to a silent standstill for a few moments, the only sound to Alex was that of the static lapping at the edges of the room and still continuing to glare at him silently.

"Is there anything I should know about these faceless things?" Tim's voice was like a gunshot to the symphony of static and silence filling the air, Alex just barely flinched at the sound of it.

But only _just_.

Mr. H stayed silent for a moment, so Alex finally spoke up.

"Just don't go into the woods alone, really. Unless you wanna try breaking the third rule that is."

Tim's eyes moved over to Alex's profile, taking it in as well, he assumed.

"Stay out of the woods alone, got it."

The boy kept his eyes on Alex, and Alex tried his hardest not to compare it to the stare of the static, he really did.  
  
Emphasis on the  _tried_ , though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frank Sinatra annoys the hell out of faceless demons and makes them leave 13-year-olds alone, says a man who May be a demon.  
> more at 11.  
>   
> (Edit 6/12/19; This Story now has a [Pinterest Board](https://www.pinterest.ie/ChemicalGay/the-gifted-kids/) with sections for each of the characters if you're having trouble visualizing them or just want to see some mood boards!!! )


	3. Steady, Watch Me Navigate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He felt like a stitch run far too long off the fabric and into the machine. His skin pulling and knotting under a pressure he didn’t really understand.
> 
> She reminds him of a seam ripper, eyes glaring deep green under auburn hair and streaks of bright strawberry blonde, tearing him free from the pain of a power he never asked for.
> 
> She knows because he told her in a half-asleep daze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw;  
> -self harm (picking/scratching at skin in moments of stress.)  
> -blood mention (very small but figured I should mention it)  
> -mentions of patron saints (religious stuff)  
> -mentions of being set on fire and burning  
> -mentions of dissociation 
> 
> Title from Feel Good Inc. by Gorillaz, but specifically the cover by Celia Pavey.

He owes her, big time. 

One Jessica Jude Locke thinks this as she sits daintily upon the cafeteria seats across from one Alexander Ruth Kralie. 

He really does owe her. 

And Jay, now that she thinks of it, she adds mentally. 

“Hello Alex,” she doesn’t look up from her drink, simply opting to raise her eyebrows and slowly sip from the smoothie she holds in her hands.

Her nails still carry the imprint of ash left behind from the night prior, her person still carries the smell of burning wood and cinnamon. 

Alex picks at a spot on his inner elbow with an almost gentle yet feverish scrabble to feel the pinch of the nail on skin. She doesn’t blame him, but she doesn’t condone him either. 

“Hey Jess,” he responds, eyes darting frantically between a spot outside the side door’s window and the spot right under her eye on her right cheek. 

There laid a burnt patch of caramel stars on her skin, larger than the others dotting her face and trailing closer to her eyes than the others as well. She forgot to cover it with foundation, this she knows, even if it wasn’t intentional, it was how the universe had decided to balance for her actions. 

A petty punishment for a petty crime. 

She doesn’t even have to ask what he needs, she already knows. She doesn’t need to ask what he hears outside the window, but she knows that he prefers it when she asks for his permission to help him.

He always was a stubborn bastard, this she also knows. 

She reaches her hand over the table, eyes finally moving up to his, but avoiding his almost vacant stare for the patch of freckles laying under his own right eye. 

( _He is not her twin, but there are days she feels he is, feels that he is more her blood than her own mother is. And maybe she wishes he is, but that is a secret between her and the universe_.)

His hand finds hers almost immediately, and she takes a moment to simply run her thumb over the back of his knuckles in comfort, knowing he is about as lost as he was when Itson had cherry-picked him from the Suspected crowd and thrown him at the then three-person party. 

She reached into a pocket on the inside of her shawl, sewn there in a haste the morning prior as the sun pooled in through rain clouds and dark curtains, and pulled out a small slip of paper, written on in glittery greens, pinks, and purple gel ink. There were five names on the list, each one decorated with a small star sticker, and a few drops of blood to the left side of the paper. 

Jay almost always managed to get blood on the papers, even if he didn’t mean to.

The blood was compensation for him using his powers, just as the ash was her’s, and the skin picking was Alex’s.

( _They were playing a balancing act, and the universe would always manage to balance them, even if it meant destroying them piece by piece_.)

She placed the paper in his palm, folding his fingers over it gently. He tried to pull back, to leave and get the transaction over with, but she grasped at his wrist, pulling him back to her gently but firmly. 

He sat with an air of reluctance and stared back at her freckles.

( _His eyes were like black holes, the lines between pupil and iris blurring until they created a vortex that drew in all the sounds of the Faceless, all the sounds of the universe piling up in his head. She feared he would go mad one day with the pressure of it. That, or tear himself apart before the universe could_.)

“Are you hearing their voices again?” She asked, knowing he was. 

( _He was like a freighted animal caught between the Faceless and her, and she knew he needed to feel she was better than them, to feel that she wasn’t just as bad in order to let her help him. A deep, motherly part of her wept at the lack of trust between her and this boy, this nearly mad, rabbit hearted boy she adored so much_.) 

“Y-yes. But it’s okay, I’m managing, I don’t need you to stop them, it’s okay I-”

“You’re tearing yourself apart from the longer you listen to them,” 

“The longer I listen to them without writing it down,” he corrected.

She stared at him, and he stared back at her with a clenched jaw and a shaking hand.

“I need to get this to Mr. H,” 

“I know you do,” 

She held her gaze fixed on his eyes, seeing a small spark flickering behind his foggy eyes, and she held it until he blinked and stared down at her necklace. 

Saint Jude burned silently on her chest, and she ran her thumb over his knuckles once more. 

“How about we make a compromise?” she proposed.

Alex’s eyes pulled their way back to her chin and stayed there in their lack of will to meet her own. 

“How about I only quiet them, just a little, so you can still hear them but they’re not as loud. How does that sound?” 

Alex thought it over silently, eyes burning holes into her skin like sizzling drops of acid. 

( _Some deeper part of him yearned to be released from the grasp of his powers, and she could see it as clear as day on him. He had never asked to be one of them, just as Jay hadn’t and as she hadn’t. She wanted to tear the Faceless apart, become just as filthy as they were if it only meant they would no longer suffer for the interest of a creature they didn’t want_.) 

He blinked, eyes pulling over a blanket of mist before clearing, and nodded to her proposition. 

She reached her free hand up to his head, which he had accommodated for by leaning forward to ease her process, to which she was grateful for, and placed her palm over his cheek. 

Her skin smelt of cinnamon and sugar and the faintest scent of apples, and the ash on her fingertips spread to her knuckles. She watched almost awestruck as the space around him contorted for a moment before settling into faint, burning stardust in the air.

“Tell me if it starts hurting” she whispered, fingers of her free hand already tracing the outline of stars around his head. 

She focuses, mainly on the sounds pouring into the boy's head from almost every part of the room, and pulls, waiting for the resonating snap and sizzle of just a few waves, and the tear and extinguishing huff of others. Hand remaining on his face, and the other shooing away the excess like dust on something prized, she watched as the stars flickered then fell and faded back into the air around him.  

The ash on her fingers clung to the fabric of his shirt no matter how much she tried to brush it away as well. The sting deep in her chest pulls and twists and she blinks away the tears that gather in her eyes with a vengeance. 

( _The universe charges a high price for those who wish to fight against things that challenge It. Alex had once called her a Phoenix, and maybe he was right, seeing her rising from the ashes of a fire she set in her own body, burning and charring and melting until she awoke again, soulless and powerful and free. T_ _he vacant space in her chest behind her lungs and beside her heart feels more like a burning knot of strings than any vacancy she'd_ thought _she'd experience._ ) 

Dragging an ash-covered nail over his cheek, she wondered if Alex has ever been relaxed in his life, or if he was simply born as tense and uncomfortable as he was then.  

He felt like a stitch run far too long off the fabric and into the machine. His skin pulling and knotting under a pressure he didn’t really understand.

She reminds him of a seam ripper, eyes glaring deep green under auburn hair and streaks of bright strawberry blonde, tearing him free from the pain of a power he never asked for.

She knows because he told her in a half-asleep daze. 

She pulls back from him, resting her hands over her dress and holding herself from grimacing at the fallout of ash and still lit embers that fall onto her lap. They remain invisible to the eyes of anyone outside of herself, and her skirt nearly catches fire. 

( _It’s not the first time it has, and it won’t be the last. She has yet to burn anyone else, but she has time, and the universe has patience_.) 

“I need to get this to Mr. H,” he mumbled, eyes brighter, but still dulled and warped behind his glasses. 

“I know,” it’s a whisper, a quiet plea that deep motherly part of her wants him to listen to. 

She says something along the lines of seeing him later, but her mind is already fogged and her eyes are staring thousands of yards through him. 

( _She is not so lucky as to be granted the same virtue_.)

Someone eventually comes and moves her to her next class, hand on her arm and words of worry lodged into her head.

She doesn’t see him in the next class, or the next, but she feels him, feels the mounting panic and the pounding heart and the blood that gathers under his nails. 

( _Looking down at her own nails, maybe that is actually herself she’s describing. She doesn’t know_.) 

In her sixth period, he walks in near the end of the class, hands the teacher a note ( _the teacher sees Itson’s handwriting and_ knows _not to ask or punish him for being late. Fear is such an odd thing, but it is_ useful.) and silently takes his seat next to her. 

His legs shake, and his nails sport the new addition of rust-colored dried blood. 

( _His heart pounds beside her, beating and slamming into his ribs the whole rest of the period. Something is said over the intercom but she doesn’t listen, preoccupied with the beat beat beat beat of his heart beside her. Oh, how she adores this rabbit hearted boy_.)

He writes the same four words in his notebook, ( _Rosewood, Ark, Camera, Find_ ) and his eyes remain as glazed over as her head feels.  

They don’t say anything to one another, but her words are there, lodged in her throat and clawing at her mouth. 

They leave the room together, silently. 

They wait outside by the back left exit on their hall, Alex sitting on the ground and Jessica standing with her hands in her skirt. The smudge of ash remains on his cheek, ( _The ash is spreading oh g/d it’s spreading it’s spreading_ ) and they wait. 

All the other children leave, and they wait.

( _The hour draws into four and some deep, repressed part of her whines at the idea that her mother will be angry she’s late before she realizes the reality. Her mother stopped caring when or_ if _she got home years ago, and Alex’s mother thinks he frequents Jay’s house just as much as he did before his life fell to shit. She’s not wrong, but she’s not right either_.) 

They wait, Alex scribbling into his notebook and her hands smearing ash on her skirt crudely. The nag of impatience pulls at her, and she holds her breath.

( _Once more she realizes that she was sadly never granted the same patience the universe has for her_.)

She lets out the breath, and simply, _impatiently_ ;

they wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saint Jude is the patron saint of the lost causes, and I felt it was rather fitting.  
>   
> (Edit 6/12/19; This Story now has a [Pinterest Board](https://www.pinterest.ie/ChemicalGay/the-gifted-kids/) with sections for each of the characters if you're having trouble visualizing them or just want to see some mood boards!!! )

**Author's Note:**

> Idk where the idea for this story came from, but I like it enough to actually write stuff for it so I mean *shrug*.
> 
> As Always,  
> Comments and Kudos are much appreciated loves!~


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